


What Burns Yet Does Not Die

by CynicalBeauty



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heartbreak, Injury, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalBeauty/pseuds/CynicalBeauty
Summary: Can you feel my strength destroy you straight to the heart from the venomous bite?
Relationships: Cia/Volga (Legend of Zelda), One-sided Cia (Legend of Zelda)/Link (Legend of Zelda), Volga (Legend of Zelda)/Cia (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Gilded In Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 35th Legend of Zelda Anniversary and 4th Anniversary of Breath of the Wild's worldwide release! My dumb ass decided to make a fic for a rarepair from a game that released originally 7 years ago. Enjoy my first contribution to the Zelda community!

The march of her minions was a thunderous cadence, and she, the maestro who orchestrated everything monstrous and nightmarish Hyrule had to offer. They disturbed the tranquility of the forest, trampling the delicate ecosystem beneath heavy bootfalls, heedless of what obstructed their path or what they destroyed along the way.

They had the Hylians surrounded within mere minutes, the hellish fiends she commanded withered them down quickly.

Screams of agony filled the air. Grunting, the sound of steel clashing and pleas for mercy could be heard all across the battlefield.

It was a brutal massacre, the Hyrulean soldiers didn’t stand a chance, most were greenhorns, fresh out of the knight’s trainee academy, sent from Hyrule Castle as reinforcements in the upcoming battle to replace units from the previous battle. They were caught off guard, and few could hold their own against wave after wave of monsters. The odds were looking grim for these men.

Cia cackled, enjoying every second of the soldiers’ turmoil. She wished for the slaughter to never end. It was exhilarating! The suffering of others filled her with a renewed sense of purpose. Never had she enjoyed living as much as she had this moment.

Drunk on power she joined the chaos, fighting alongside her minions, maiming all that opposed her.

And what a rush she felt when the retractable spiked ball of her scepter sunk into the side of a soldier, she took pleasure in the look of horror when he realized he was about to die. The cry he let out was absolutely _delicious_ when she yanked the ball out sending a crimson splatter to soak the earth. The soldier collapsed and breathed his last.

She was so absorbed in the thrill of it all, almost not noticing reinforcements heading her way.

Cia had not expected things to go south as quickly as they did.

More soldiers appeared, aiding their less experienced brethren, and made up for the lack of manpower. With their numbers doubled, they overpowered Cia’s army, defeating a damning amount of underlings and captains. The soldiers had not come alone. In the thick of combat Cia spotted the princess’ Sheikah General lending a helping hand, cutting down the monsters with ease.

But Cia sensed something else. A new fighter had joined the fray, agile and wielding a brilliant golden harp. The androgynous youth, dressed in traditional Sheikah clothes attacked Cia’s minions, using dextrous fingers to pluck the strings of their harp, dazzling light sending the monsters flying everywhere.

The mysterious youth broke through their ranks, and paved a path straight for Cia. They stormed the keep where Cia waited patiently to greet them as a guest.

“Oh? And who might you be? I do not recall there being any Sheikah survivors.” Cia sneered.

“My identity matters not.” With a flick of their wrist, kunai appeared between each knuckle of their hand. “Only that your mad quest ends here! Have at thee!”

Cia waved her scepter with a flourish, the whip cracking as it snapped in their direction, and pulled it taut in her hands. She beckoned the youth to her, accepting their challenge.

“Very well then. I’ll remember to leave your gravemarker blank.”

The youth rushed forward, moving too fast for the eye to see, darting from place to place, attempting to get close only to feign an attack and pull back, rinsing and repeating the action. Cia had difficulty keeping up, occasionally the youth would commit and attack for real, thrusting their kunai at Cia. When that would happen, Cia would call a Dark Link to block the blow.

Yet Cia’s dark magic required focus and time to conjure, the youth would dodge every devastating surge of magic thrown at them, every crack of her whip. It was humiliating how Cia could not land a single hit. She was beginning to grow frustrated.

That frustration made her sloppy and more than once she was hit with lightning from the Sheikah youth’s harp. Her ears were ringing after the last attack, nerves alight with an unpleasant tingling sensation, her skull rattled from the aftershocks.

Cia’s gaze wavered, glancing beyond the keep, out to the battlefield and made a mental calculation of her remaining forces. She brought more men than necessary. At first she was expecting to crush the caravan of trainees from rejoining with the main body of soldiers, aiming to further drop morale. Their morale had already taken a hit with the disappearance of their precious princess.

The Sheikah General and the youth had turned the tide in their favor, Cia had concluded.

She growled, staring down the youth. Cia channeled that hate into her magic, summoning an empowered Dark Link for them to play with until Cia was done.

She turned her back, and began reaching into the farthest depths of her ancient magic, calling out to that power. It responded with a ripple, at first. The surfacing bubbling, then swirling. Until it coursed through her like a geyser, bursting forth, breaking through thousands of years worth of dormancy to finally awaken.

Wisps of shadows crawled through the forest floor, whispering in elusive ancient tongues, the magic churned, settling into the lifeless bodies of the fallen. Bloody wounds sealed shut, bones popped back into place, even disembodied limbs returned to their rightful owners. She was performing necromancy; a forbidden, dark art that could corrupt the mind of anyone lesser.

The Hyrulean soldiers could only watch, horrified that such a power existed.

Cia staggered when her spell was complete, catching herself before falling. She was exhausted to the point of collapsing. She had expended all of her magic resurrecting her army. To continue fighting would be a gamble and she could not afford to lose anymore men. Not this early in the game, she had only begun raising hell upon those Hylian fools.

She had no other option other than to pull everyone back and retreat.

And so she ran, bellowing to her captains she passed. “Retreat! Retreat! Tell as many as you can!”

The Lizalfos squeaked in affirmation, calling out to it’s kin in a series of clicks. Ice Poes flitted to one another, forms glowing softly. ReDead shrieked towards the high heavens.

Cia was in more than just a foul mood, she was absolutely fucking livid! She had had the upper hand! Victory was within her sight for most of the battle! If so, then what had gone wrong along the way?

She had not even seen a glimpse of her green clad Hero! She spent the entire battle looking out for him and he was nowhere to be found.

She was about to dive into the dense thicket beyond the trees when she whimpered, feeling a terrible, sharp pain shoot through her exposed thigh, nearly bringing her down to her knees. Warm liquid dribbled out of the wound, and ran down her leg but she pressed on, running as fast as the pain would allow.

Cia looked over her shoulder one last time, and saw the youth watching her, looking pleased under their many layers of bandages. Cia's anger hit a breaking point, nearly compelling her to turn around and teach the youth some manners. But no, she could sense the Hylian soldiers nearby, intent on capturing her. If she let her emotions control her, she would be fighting a losing battle.

She would get revenge another day and victory then would be so much _sweeter._

“Mistress, your orders?”

Wizzro had appeared beside her in a cloud of purple smoke. Unable to keep the fear evident from its voice, its usual playfulness absent. It’s cloak sporting multiple tears, it looked no worse for wear just as Cia did.

“Evacuate everyone into the next hideout previously discussed, avoid losing anymore lives if possible!”

Cia was out of breath, the heel of her boot snagging on a tree root somewhere. She couldn’t even yank the kunai from her thigh to alleviate the pain. Not with her magic reserves running low, she risked bleeding out if she could not weave the wound shut. Every step she took, the blade felt like it was slicing through muscle and bone.

But why did it feel like she wasn’t gaining any distance? She had been running for Goddess knows how long. Why did it feel like the Hylian foot soldiers were as close as Wizzro's obnoxious self beside her?

“Wizzro! Where is Volga? Find him and tell him to distract the enemy while we escape!” Cia barked, giving up on appearances and using her scepter as a support to lean on as she ran.

“I’m not sure, mistress. Last I saw him, he was fighting the Hero.” It frowned.

Something whizzed dangerously close to her ear. She thought perhaps it was the start of rain, thick gray clouds had gathered in the sky while she fought the Sheikah youth.

A startled Wizzro let out a yelp, as the air around them was disturbed. It twirled, dodging _something_ , the object sinking into the trunk of a tree with a _thunk_. But soon, Cia learned what rained from the sky was not raindrops but arrows.

Suddenly it all made sense to her, how she could not shake the feeling of the enemy at her heels because there was archers hiding in the trees—she didn’t even know the Hylians had archers among their ranks. It should have occurred to her sooner as a possibility when she knew her Hero himself was very skilled with a bow. He must have learned somewhere if not with the Hylian Knights.

She would have been impressed with the fact the Hylians had the foresight to plan a counter ambush as her army fled had she not been currently preoccupied with running for her life.

“Change of plans!” Another arrow landed beside her. “Scatter, tell as many as you can to get to safety.”

“Understood!” It disappeared in a swirl of smoke. Wizzro didn’t even try to reason with her. It was just glad to get the chance to hightail itself out of there.

Now it was just her.

She ran deeper into the forest, breaking off from the others. She figured if she got far enough away, the archers would lose sight of her. She wasn’t wrong, she wasn’t getting shot at as often now. The forest floor had become eerily still, only her heavy panting filling that stillness. Not even a sign of wildlife of any kind could be found. Cia took that as a good sign. Maybe finally she could take a breather and start recharging her magic.

Adrenaline had kept her going until now, the fear of being found by the enemy being her driving force, propelling her forward. She had to find a suitable hiding spot if she wanted to heal her leg wound and rendezvous with her dark army.

But fuck, if she wasn’t tired.

She made it to a clearing, chest burning and legs feeling like metaphorically speaking, a chuchu jelly. Cia cursed herself for heavily relying on her magic. She was a powerful sorceress, true, but physically fit she was not.

Her legs finally gave, sending her tumbling to the ground, rolling a few times before flopping over uselessly on her side. Gravel dug into her flesh further adding fresh cuts over the darkening bruises the Sheikah youth gave her. Her scepter clattering beside her. Blood and dirt caked on her once elegant clothes. The beak of her mask snapped off and in a fit of rage she ripped the mask off and flung it, landing in a patch of white flowers.

The flavor of blood filled her mouth, she must have bit her tongue on the way down. She felt every bit as miserable as she looked. Tears stinging behind her eyes, but she refused to show weakness. She pushed herself to her elbows, her aching body protested the action. All she wanted was to soak her tired muscles in the grandiose hot tub back at the temple.

Unfortunately such a luxury would have to wait.

Cia started this war to make the Hero she yearned for so long, hers. It would not end like this. Beaten and alone.

The trees overhead rustled, the sound too loud to be a simple bird. Cia tensed, raw fear flooding her all over again.

A figure fell out of the tree—a man.

He stood out from the other soldiers, dressed differently in a forest green garb that aided him in blending in with the surrounding foliage. Stealthy and more assassin-like than knightly, she thought. A bright blue scarf that bore the royal family’s insignia trailed behind him as he fell from above.

He was more than just handsome, he was perfect. A perfect example of a hero destined to fell evil.

Evil, very much like herself.

It was all so very pathetic.

For millennia she peered into her crystal ball from her temple, as reincarnation after reincarnation of the Hero plunged his sacred blade into wicked foes alike. It always led up to one final and epic battle where the very fate of an entire realm depended on him.

If she lost the war she expected to be killed by the same sacred blade that survived generations of reincarnated Heroes, it’s creation dating as far back as when the Goddesses originally blessed the blade and gifted it to children of men. At the very least Cia wished she could have put up one hell of a fight before meeting her end.

Not like this. She hated it.

Vulnerable, backed into a corner, and cowering in front of the enemy. The very man she desperately adored pointing an arrow straight at her.

It was laughable, really. Perhaps not her preferred death sentence but a fitting one all the same: an arrow through the heart. A tragic tale of unrequited love to be told for the ages. If even that. No one had even heard of the Guardian of Time, her existence was not common knowledge. Her tale of going against fate and claiming what should have been hers would be forgotten. That’s what she was, a forgettable villain and she would die a quick and easy death. Her corpse left for scavengers to pick at while the Hylians celebrated a premature end to the war with their loved ones back at home.

The rejection from her Hero stung.

He drew the string of his bow back, the arrow sent flying her way with a _twang_ , the sharp metal tip tearing through empty space.

Cia's eyes met with that of her Hero’s. Not a hint of remorse or hesitation hidden within the endless blue of his orbs, it was obvious where his loyalties lay. He felt nothing for Cia. There was no malice or contempt in his expression, only duty to slay the enemy who threatened the peace of Hyrule.

He wasn’t the least bit attached to her. Never had Cia felt so insignificant than in her last moments.

She accepted this would be how she died.

Except the pain never came.

The air around her grew hot, blistering like Hyrule’s blazing summers. Such a drastic temperature change caused the fine hairs on her neck to rise.

The next thing she knew, Volga came crashing from above like a meteor, hurling at unfathomable speeds, a shallow crater forming beneath his feet, swatting the arrow away with a wing that sprouted from his back. Flames rose from where he stood between Cia and the Hero.

Still suspended in the air, Link didn’t miss a beat, in the split second that Volga appeared he was prepared to improvise. He quickly drew another two arrows from the quiver at his back, took aim and pulled back the string, firing the volley of arrows.

Volga barely had any time to retaliate, he batted the first arrow aside and let out an inhuman roar, the sound so deafeningly loud, Link visibly flinched. Volga bared his teeth, daring Link to come closer.

Cia was petrified in place. Her head spun, she tried to remember to breathe but her throat felt like it was constricting upon itself, dizziness threatening to make her pass out. Warmth glowed at her cheeks, salty tears tracking down her face.

She was alive. Her Hero had tried to kill her and failed.

He did not love her. Who was she fooling other than herself?

She choked on a sob, her chest felt like it was caving in. She wanted to scream until her voice grew hoarse. She felt so _stupid!_

Her flight or fight response refused to kick in, Volga had just saved her but she could not find the want or strength to get up. Her full body tremors weren’t helping either. She would have stayed there until the end of time, her mind broken, disbelief keeping her rooted to that very spot.

The second arrow fired hit it’s mark, burying itself deep between the exposed joint of Volga’s shoulder armor with a wet squelch, the arrowhead breaking through the flesh of his back. Luckily for him, it was not his dominant arm. Gritting his teeth, he fought through the searing pain. Volga spun, putting an incredible amount of momentum into a single throw of his pike.

Link was on the ground by then, feet firmly planted and bracing himself, he raised his shield. The pike hit the shield head on, denting it in the center and pushing Link a few feet back from the sheer power of the blow.

Volga recalled the weapon, disappearing and reappearing in a flicker of embers back into the hand of his injured arm.

But Link was not done. He made a mad dash for the Dragon Knight, drawing his sword, and took an offensive stance.

Volga leapt back, well aware he was at a clear disadvantage with both he and Cia injured. As much as he wanted to prove his superiority over the Hero, it was foolish to linger here any longer than necessary.

He scooped up Cia off the ground by the waist effortlessly. The wind getting knocked out of her when she was unceremoniously tossed over his good shoulder. Volga was careful to not to accidentally dislodge the kunai, being uncharacteristically gentle as he wrapped an arm around the back of her thighs.

The Hero continued charging, determined to fight them both. To buy them time, Volga took a deep breath and unleashed a stream of fire, a blaze erupting over the grass and effectively halting the hero’s frontal assault.

Volga did not care to wait and see if the Hero would stubbornly follow, without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, he turned and began to sprint through the forest.

Cia snapped out of it, her mind struggling to catch up to the present, haunted by the frigid touch of death. When she opened her mouth to finally speak, all that came out was quiet, “Volga?”

Volga paused before a steep, rocky incline, shifting Cia to get a better hold of her and slid down.

“Apologies, mistress.” He grumbled. “That I was not able to come sooner.” He vaulted over a boulder like he was enjoying a morning jog while not carrying an adult woman over his shoulder.

Cia’s brows knit in confusion, she clawed at Volga’s back for purchase to lessen the jostling, trying in vain to raise her upper half so the jagged plate of his shoulder armor wouldn’t dig into her bruised ribs.

She noted he cleared more distance in less than five minutes than it did the entire time it took her to hobble from the ally keep into that grove.

Still she wondered how he had gotten there just in the nick of time.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“The Sheikah General interrupted my fight with the boy.” Boy? He must have meant Link. How dare he! The belittlement of her Hero bothered her, but she didn’t have the energy to admonish Volga. “She mentioned you were retreating and the boy had orders to execute the next phase of their plan. Curious as to what the next phase of their plan entailed, I shadowed the boy and he led me here.” He added in quietly “They forget dragons have good hearing.”

So it had been by sheer luck he came across her. Then that begged to ask the next question.

“What of Wizzro?”

“I didn’t catch a whiff of its putrid stench if that's what you’re asking.” She could physically hear the smirk in Volga’s voice.

“I'm in no mood for your jokes.” Her patience was wearing thin. She did not appreciate Volga making light of the situation after what had just happened. She could have lost everything. The war. The chance to steal her Hero’s heart. Everything!

“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn. I meant to say no, I did not see it. Therefore, if you issued any orders, I was unable to receive them.”

“It doesn’t make any sense...” He almost didn’t hear her, a rumbling in the sky, over the horizon drowned out her words.

“Pardon?”

“Why would you save me?!” She cried, clenching her fist, body shaking with fresh tears. “If you left me back there, then you wouldn’t have to serve me any longer! The war would be over and you and that ungrateful pile of rags would be free! It makes no sense!” She clenched her fists and pounded his back with her whole might—which wasn’t saying much, Volga remained unfazed. “My magic’s influence on you wore off many moons ago, so then why?” She sobbed, an ugly sound, the last of her rant came out as barely above a whisper.

With no other way to vent her pent up anger, she exploded, taking out the frustration of her failures onto Volga. She could not see it, but there was no emotion casted beneath the shadow of his helmet, only blackness. In the short time she knew him she recognized it as him being pensive.

The silence dragged for what seemed like an eternity, she had become annoyed by his lack of reaction, ready to unjustly lash out some more.

“I am bound to you by contract.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Whether it be written or oral, I will honor our pact and until all conditions are met, I can not allow you to perish.”

She scowled, Volga returned to his steady stride through the forest, unperturbed and oblivious that he had upset Cia more. She felt more tired than ever, and at some point the tears stopped falling.

Cia fell silent after that, unsatisfied with his answer yet she said nothing else. Eventually her thoughts wandered, preoccupied with the events of earlier.

She reflected on her encounter with the Hero. On what that meant for her future plans. She thought she was prepared to put everything on the line for this war. She was a selfish creature, not caring if she hurt those closest to Link or the lives of those she took advantage of—the lives of her generals and the power they possessed were nothing more than a means to an end.

She knew the Hero would not come quietly, she expected some resistance on his end, but eventually he would come to love her and no one else. He would realize she was all he needed to be happy and the sad excuse of the people he called friends were ultimately a waste of his time. And when that time came, he would finally snap to his senses and turn the Blade of Evil’s Bane on the Hyrulean princess, the true enemy! _She_ was the divide that kept Cia and the Hero apart!

That is what Cia wanted to believe at least. The weight of the reality was finally crashing down on her.

The image of the Hero pointing his weapon at her kept replaying in her mind’s eye, over and over. She could not forget the terror, the dread she felt that all she had done up until now was for naught.

But she also remembered how the overcast weather caused the light to hit the golden strands of the Hero’s hair differently than when it was sunny out. And that expression! It was a look of total concentration, a confident hunter that had his prey within his sights.

Was perhaps that tunic fitted? It certainly clung nicely in certain places, not that she was looking or anything like that.

She let out an airy sigh.

Oh, but he had looked so gallant, the object of her affection! Flying out of the tree, poised to strike! A chivalrous knight fighting to protect what he believed in! He—

Goddesses, she was so hopeless. She had it bad for the Hero.

“Mistress?” Was that Volga’s voice Cia heard? How unusual, she could have sworn he was much closer than that, he might as well have been talking in another room. “You should rest. I cannot guarantee how soon will we rendezvous with the others. It would not befit you being fatigued.”

She tried to formulate a proper response but all that came out was a sleepy groan.

The edges of her vision grew dark, it was beginning to grow difficult staying conscious.

Wait, where was she? Was she not being carried a minute ago? It felt like she was floating and she would drift away if she let herself. The inside of her skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Her eyes closed, head lolling forward, her body grew limp.

Volga chuckled.

“Sleep. I will see to it that you are protected.”

It went black after that.


	2. As The Embers Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me, were you calm when they took your life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of writing as I go, so I don't really know where I'm taking this. Any feedback or suggestions are welcome, hey maybe tell me what would you like to see so I can try to incorporate your idea with whatever vague timeline I have planned, I'd love to hear what you got. I'm still trying to figure out my writing style since I'm kinda new to writing so please excuse any errors or if the flow sucks, please help me improve, I love learning! Anyways, here's chapter two.

_ Why HAD he saved her? _

The question buzzed around him like a pestering, overly talkative fairy, clouding his thoughts with images of the Sorceress on her knees, injured, battered and thoroughly defeated. He could not help but pity her as he watched from afar. And then something overcame him, and he could no longer sit back and watch. He intervened when the  _ smell _ of his mistresses’ blood reached his nose and the next thing he knew he just  _ acted _ . His body suddenly didn’t feel like it was his own, it was as if his instincts were what drove him, and he wanted nothing more than to make that boy  _ pay  _ for attempting to hurt what belonged to…to...

Did he even dare finish that thought?

Volga never really wanted to protect anything in his life other than the caves that were his home and the Dragonfolk that took him in and raised him as their own.

Humans were never of any interest to him. He cared little for learning their ways and traditions, nor ever had he wanted to integrate himself into their society. He was too  _ different. _ Although he was human in appearance, the villagers from the town closest to Eldin Caves feared him, and avoided him whenever he came to the town for supplies. His dragonkin on the other hand, raised him from infancy, they never rejected him or made him feel like an outcast. They gave him a place to belong.

He didn’t trust humans.

So then why had he come to feel possessive over the Sorceress?

She was eccentric and a vain creature of comforts. What baffled him the most was how she waged an  _ entire goddamn war _ on a kingdom, all so she could have one boy. Lives were lost, and families destroyed as a result of her selfishness. She was even willing to topple a monarchy to get what she wanted! Her fury knew no bounds, she was a very dangerous individual not to be trifled with.

And here Volga was,  _ encouraging  _ her to finish what she started. He had to have been equally as mad as she, if not worse!

Still, he saved the Sorceress for reasons he did not fully understand. Yet deep down, he would never openly admit to it, he wanted something to come out of this war. It wasn’t strength, he already had plenty of that to last several lifetimes over. He likened it akin to a dragon’s instinct to hoard treasure, that was the best way he could describe it, and that greedy part of him wanted something unattainable, not even within the realm of possibility.

Volga desired the Sorceress for himself. He knew he could never have her, for her heart was dead set on possessing the soul of another. He believed himself a fool for wanting more beyond serving her as her General.

Cia had collapsed from exhaustion not long ago. He already could feel the air around them crackling with dark energy. Volga recognized it as the same magic from earlier, that breathed life into his companion that had fallen to the blade of the boy, a Lizalfos who had been his lifelong friend, and for that Volga was grateful to the Sorceress. It was only a matter of time before she regenerated all of her depleted magic reserves.

Volga huffed, his shoulder throbbing from the pain brought from the arrow lodged in his shoulder. He had suffered greater pain in his lifetime, but he would not underestimate something as deadly as an arrow wound. Some of his kin had perished to infections caused by untreated arrow wounds, unfortunately his kin weren’t gifted with accelerated healing as Volga was.

He flicked his serpentine tongue, once, twice, tasting the air for anyone nearby, (something he had to stop himself from reflexively doing in front of humans). He could smell wild game, but not anything human or humanoid. Good. They were safe. For now. He could finally prioritize seeking shelter.

Taking in his surroundings he realized a new problem arose. _Where_ were  they exactly?

His dragon senses alerted him that a thunderstorm drew near. He had to act quickly if he wanted to avoid getting caught in the storm. He came to a stop, gently setting down Cia against a tree.

Volga considered himself lucky, his injury could have been worse. The arrow entered his shoulder above his clavicle and exited at an angle right as his shoulder blade began. As far as he knew the arrow had not hit anything of great significance, it was more of a nuisance rather than anything. His anger flashed when he thought back to the person who had inflicted the injury onto him.

That  _ miserable _ boy. The object of Cia's obsession and Volga's greatest enemy.

He wrapped a hand around the shaft of the arrow snapping off the feathered portion that jutted out of his wound and tossed it aside. He used his loss to the Hero as fuel to his ire, he grabbed right below the arrowhead, and  _ pulled _ , yanking it out in one swift movement. He grunted, clenching his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. Blood trickled out of the opening, but Volga could not let himself relax just yet.

Volga clenched his fists, swearing to himself that he would have his revenge next time he'd fight the Hero.

He unbuckled his torso armor, letting in fall at his feet, stripping off his leather shirt, leaving his chest bare.

Fire ignited over his exposed skin, bathing in it’s comforting embrace. The blood over his wound began to sizzle, reaching a boiling point, the damaged flesh melted, bubbling and blistering, creating a crudely formed scab of charred flesh. It was not the first time he had to resort to such desperate measures when he could not receive proper medical attention. His dragon healing would take care of the rest.

Redressed, Volga felt sorry that he had to do the same for the Sorceress. He gazed down at her from where he stood, her normally wonderfully tanned skin was pale. Her face, lacking it’s ever-present stern expression, looked peaceful in her sleep.

He knelt in front of her, taking the kunai’s grip in his hand and pulled slowly, making sure not to accidently increase the wound's length on the way out. She winced, but did not wake. He held on to the kunai for now, wrapping it in an old rag, picking up the broken pieces of arrow as well, he didn’t want to leave a trail behind for the Hylians to find and track them down.

Volga reached a hand out, skimming his fingertips across the flesh of her thigh, a small flame shot forth from his index finger, burning her wound. She cried out, grimacing at the sensation, but relaxed somewhat when it was over, moaning weakly. Cia must have used all her magic if she was in such a deep sleep, Volga thought. He was just grateful the worst had come to pass, and the risk of dying from infection had no longer posed a threat.

A single drop of water landed on his face. He looked up, the sky had gotten darker and the flashes of lighting drew nearer. Night would fall soon and it would be unwise to stay in the open as they were. He’d better get moving.

* * *

Volga narrowly avoided being pelted by icy rain water, not that he personally would have been bothered. His internal temperature was much higher than that of his kin who had to seek an external source to keep warm. He is  a fire breathing dragon after all, he radiated heat by simply existing. No, who he worried on behalf of the Sorceress, if the gooseflesh that erupted across her skin indicated anything, it was that she was cold.

He felt a spark of rage fester within him.

Volga cursed himself for acting impulsively, for putting himself into this situation. Cia was right. He could have let her perish at the hands of the Hero. That was an option, yes, not one he could have made in good conscience, but he could have avoided unknowingly making himself responsible for the well-being of the Sorceress. 

Now he was completely alone with her in this damp cave while they took shelter from the rain. She was shivering violently and knowing humans, she would only get colder. Volga knew little about magical beings, but he could tell the Sorceress was in some sort of stasis while her body recovered. She would most likely not awaken until tomorrow morning.

He paced, lost as to what to do next.

Had Cia been awake, he would have asked her for further instructions. He wondered whether they should wait the storm out and find the others as soon as possible. His stomach growled, alerting him that it had been a while since he last ate. Logically speaking, he probably would not find any game out in this weather, therefore he could rule that out as the not most optimal course of action. Then there was the issue of Cia succumbing to hypothermia…

The odds of finding the others or food were slim.

Volga ended up taking his chances at facing Cia's wrath for touching her without her consent over going back on his word. But he was hesitant, he could not bring himself to touch her as he is, it felt wrong, forbidden. Which was ridiculous, there was no one that was prohibiting him from doing so.

In a flash of fire, he transformed. The cave was just tall enough to allow him to stand on all fours while hunched over slightly, but it was all the room he needed. Using his snout, he sat her on the cave floor while laying her upper half against his side, her body nestled comfortably within his fiery mane. He draped a leathery wing over her to act as a blanket and finally curled himself around her as a barrier against the wind that came from the outside.

He had to convince himself he was doing this out of necessity and not because some other underlying motive. If he wanted the Sorceress to survive the night he had to keep her warm.

He was a faithful servant fulfilling his duty to his mistress.

_ Thump, thump, thump. _

If that was the case, if it were really as simple as he claimed then why did his heart betray him?

Volga could only hope the storm would pass soon as sleep would not come easy tonight.

* * *

Cia’s dreams were often filled with wild fantasies of her Hero.

Where she was the damsel and her Hero would swoop in to her rescue. He would hold her close, declaring his undying love and pledge his eternal loyalty to her, casting aside his destiny to be with her.

That was the most recurring scenario she dreamt, but this was different from all her other dreams.

Around her everything burned. Fire consumed her vision, spreading as far as the eye could see. The flames that touched her did not hurt her, on the contrary, she felt safe and warm, like it was home. She found it to be a pleasant dream regardless, not entirely unwanted.

When she opened her eyes she was met with eyes that stared back, unflinching, they shone like precious gems that glittered in the darkness. A silent protector. They belonged to a dragon she had seen reincarnated again and again like her Hero. The dragon dwelled at the heart of an active volcano, noxious gases rising from its depths. He was the Spirit of Fire, protector of the mountain and it's inhabitants, yet he set aside his duties to be by Cia's side.

Her eyelids grew heavy.

The dragon was no Hero, but Cia felt she could sleep a little longer so long as the dragon watched over her.

* * *

Volga lost track how long he had been walking for. He woke up as soon as the first signs of the sun’s rays began to light up the cave. He had been walking for what felt like a few hours now, so going by that he assumed it was early in the afternoon.

Occasionally he would use his dragon senses to scout the area for Cia’s dark forces, anyone really. Yet nothing. Volga was unfamiliar with this forest, but in all honesty, he had never really ventured too far from Eldin Caves. He knew wherever he went, he would be unwelcomed therefore he didn’t see a point to it.

There was always the option to transform into his dragon form and get an aerial view from above, but he did not want to give his position away in case there was the chance the Hyruleans were still out there. If he were to encounter the enemy now while he wasn’t at full power, he worried he would not be able to protect the unconscious Sorceress and himself.

Speaking of the Sorceress, she hadn’t even stirred when Volga placed her on his back this morning. Today, the energy around her exuded pressure compared to how faintly it pulsed yesterday. Earlier he noticed all the bruises and cuts disappeared overnight, only the wound made by the kunai remained, and that looked red and slightly irritated, there wasn’t even any scar tissue left. Both were good signs she was making progress but he was still anxious to get out of this forsaken forest and forget any of this happened.

He wasn’t sure how much longer she would stay in this comatose state.

Volga was genuinely surprised, it had been a whole day since they fled from the Hylian Knights. He refused to think of the worst case scenario, that possibly that moldy sweat towel Wizzro had taken all of Cia’s troops for itself and left them both to die.

Cia’s words came back to him.

_ The war would be over and you and that ungrateful pile of rags would be free! _

Volga may have not taken that road due to his own complicated emotions, yet knowing Wizzro, it wasn’t above taking their leader’s disappearance as an opportunity to steal everything she worked toward obtaining as its own. It wouldn’t be the first time either that Wizzro turned traitor at the worst possible moment.

“Foul abomination.” Volga whispered to no one, venom hanging off every syllable.

He found it uncanny that they weren’t being actively searched for. It had been twenty-four hours, Wizzro should have sent  _ multiple  _ search parties to retrieve them. Surely the absence of not only a General but their leader must have caused a rise of unease among the troops?

Worse came to worst, he knew his Lizalfos and Dinofalos brethren would not accept the sudden shift of leadership unless Volga was there to approve it. Without a doubt would they defect and come looking for Volga, they were his family, they would not abandon him unlike the dark wizard. Until Cia got her power back or his dragonkin found them, Volga had no other choice than to survive. He didn’t want to stay idle either just hoping to be rescued, if help never arrived then he had to find his way out of the forest and return to the Temple of Souls, even if it meant making the journey back on foot.

Cia would usually transport the entirety of her army from temple to battlefield via teleportation. Volga would go where he was needed, rarely asking questions to minimize the time he had to spend with Cia and Wizzro. Their senseless bloodlust perturbed him, making Volga want to make his interactions brief and no longer than they had to be.

He didn’t know the name of the forest or how distant it was in correlation to the temple, but he was determined to keep them both alive.

If only he had the right supplies to get them through at least a couple days.

Volga froze, his footsteps coming to an abrupt stop.

He flicked his tongue making sure he wasn’t mistaken.

_ Human. _

Just one thankfully, relief washing over Volga.

He had to get closer to identify them as a threat or not.

He placed Cia down where she was obscured by the vegetation.

Volga crept slowly through the tall grass toward the edge of the cliff, keeping his body low to the ground and peered down. There at the bottom of the cliff was a wide dirt path, the terrain muddy and uneven due to last night's storm. A strange looking man came into view, walking at a brisk pace, occasionally sidestepping puddles. He appeared not to openly carry any weapons but Volga didn’t know for certain, he knew better than to underestimate foes by looks alone.

Volga had seen many strange people during his time as a General of Cia’s army, but this person’s appearance came off as a shock. The first thing Volga noticed was the oversized insect shaped backpack strapped to his back, with an even stranger tapestry hanging from a stick from the backpack, an advertisement of his odd looking face printed on both sides of the tapestry. He wore ill suited clothes for this type of weather, revealing with sandals. Definitely not a warrior by any means, Volga decided, nor associated with the Hylian Knights.

The strange man hummed a happy tune to himself, smiling at a cage of sorts, much too preoccupied to notice being watched.

The rattling of all the bags of goods hanging off the sides of his pack caught Volga’s attention next. _Ah, so a merchant it seems._ _That would explain why he's traveling alone, the forest is much too dangerous for an ordinary person to pass though._ Volga materialized his Dragonbone Pike in his right hand. _How unfortunate of you to cross paths with someone such as myself._

Volga somersaulted off the cliff, purposely letting gravity do the work, and landed in front of the merchant in a crouch, cracks severing the earth beneath his feet. The merchant screamed in alarm, tossing the cage high into the air. Volga left him no time to recover from the scare. Volga swiped his pike, the butt of the weapon collided with the merchant’s temple and he was out like a light, his body hit the ground, splashing muddy water. The cage landing beside his head.

Easy. Volga almost felt sorry for the poor fool.

He shrugged and pulled the bag off the merchant, noting the weight of the bag. There was no way someone of the merchant’s stature could lug around a bag of this weight with the ease he displayed.

Volga sifted through the bag’s contents, taking everything he found of use and pocketing it.

Potions always got used, especially with how reckless Volga became in battle at times, they would be great to have on hand. Volga took quick food for the road later such as Hyoi Pears and Mighty Bananas, he usually preferred any meat over fruits, but he could not afford to be too picky right now.

To be honest, Volga hardly found anything that he could put to use right away without being weighed down. The merchant did have arrows and bombs, but those grew tiresome to carry. Rupees were of no use to him since he had just stolen from and knocked unconscious perhaps the only merchant he would come across through this whole ordeal. He also had other materials such as gems, bugs and frogs to use in cooking.

He found a jar of hightail lizards in a preserving juice, most likely to be used as ingredients for a natural enhancement elixir. He lamented the deaths of his close cousins to be used in a human’s frivolous concoctions, he would not leave them behind to be taken advantage of their power. Volga took the jar with him, promising to give the lizards a traditional drake burial.

Volga considered Cia’s palate while going through the cooking items. While at the temple, he had seen Cia eat only the finest foods he had ever seen, expensive alcohols and skillfully prepared foods. Volga went his entire life eating meat raw or roasted over a fire, he knew close to nothing about food preparation. He guessed she wouldn’t tolerate such... _ exotic _ foods so he left those alone.

Other than that, most of the weight of the bag came from the merchant’s personal camping gear, more unnecessary weight Volga waved it off as. Volga did come across a decently sized metal pot, perfect for boiling away microorganisms and purifying water. He strapped that to his belt and rose to his full height.

He was just about to turn and take his leave when he noticed the little cage the merchant had been carrying. Picking it up, he examined it, expecting a lucky cricket that was a popular pet among the villagers by Eldin Caves since it was in a cricket cage, but he found a beetle instead. It’s armor glimmered gold, catching the light as Volga held it up to the sun. The insect was certainly interesting to look at but Volga failed to see the appeal as to why the merchant looked so excited to have one.

Volga dropped the cage beside the merchant and began scaling the cliff to where Cia slept.

He was so used to seeing Cia surrounded in bloodshed, corpses scattered around her and a crazed expression on her face. While he admired her battle prowess, he enjoyed seeing her at peace, greenery engulfing her and the gold of her jewelry and clothes sparkling in an ethereal glow. It was a new look, he could grow used to. He reached a hand out to move a strand of her bangs that had fallen over her face.

She was very beautiful.

His chest twisted uncomfortably.

Volga berated himself, sighing under his breath.

What had the Sorceress turned him into?

He had always been a proud warrior, fighting valiantly to protect his home. He defeated the challengers that wandered into the caves to slay him with honor, even though they used dirty tactics on him.

He had agreed to enhance himself with her dark magics, something he would in the past consider “honorable” by his standards. Now he turned to petty thievery on her behalf. What else would be concede to?

He was beginning to face aspects of himself he had always fought to suppress, baser instincts he in the past would have never given in to. Never once had it crossed his mind to find a mate, yet Cia had awakened that desire within him.

Volga had no idea how Cia would react when she awoke. Their last interaction did not go so well, he suspected being nearly killed by the Hero shattered her identity, her very reason for existing since she was so madly in love with him. Who knew what state of mind she would be in.

He feared more the influence she had over him and the lengths he would go to fulfill her wishes rather than any foe that lied in wait within the forest. Volga wanted to prove to the Sorceress that he was a more suitable mate than the Hero. He would make Cia his, even if that meant reducing the world to ashes as he burned down all that stood in the Sorceress’ path.

* * *

Bonus:

Beedle sat up, disoriented, one side of his face experiencing the worst pain he’s ever felt in his young life. He wouldn’t be surprised if his brain bobbed in its casing like a Chuchu Jelly when he was attacked by that...that…

He jumped to his feet, clutching his swollen temple, his head whipping back and forth, looking for the person who knocked him out. His memory felt foggy, but he remembered a monster of a man, tall and dressed from head to toe in bright red armor, it was hard not to forget such a  _ weirdo!  _ Especially that dragon shaped helmet and strange eye makeup that ran down his face. Who in their right mind would find that kind of getup attractive in any way?

Why, Beedle’s mother had always called him a handsome fellow and she was never wrong. That weirdo was an insult to fashion! How dare he mishandle his beetles! Mum thought his beetle collection was the most interesting thing she ever laid eyes…

Beedle shrieked, dropping to his knees, looking for the latest edition to his prized beetle collection. There! He cradled the cage in his hands, crying in joy, happy to see his Energetic Rhino Beetle suckling on a dollop of tree sap. His greatest treasure!

He came to Korok Forest with the goal of catching an Energetic Rhino Beetle with his own two hands, yet his mobile shop stall proved to be too noisy when he tried to sneak up on them. The beetles spooked too easily and flew away before Beedle could get anywhere them. Beedle was about to give up and set up shop elsewhere when his savior came to his aid.

Link, his best customer and good friend traded him the beetle for what Beedle thought as pocket change. The Hero brought his knight friends along, who had also purchased a fair amount of Beedle’s inventory, his shoulders relieved of losing half the weight of his bag. It was beginning to look like Beedle’s lucky day, nothing could ruin it now.

Expect the madman that stole from him and nearly gave Beedle a concussion. He winced, gently running his hand over the massive bruise over his temple, blood staining his fingertips when he brought his hand to to his face for inspection. He went to dig his first aid kit from the confines of his pack, checking for lost inventory and planning for future restocking at the next closest town.

Truly, it had been the head injury that soured his day. The goods were easily replaceable, but his precious beetle? He wouldn’t give that up for the world. Beedle was grateful the thief didn’t understand the value of his prized possession. Accounting for his lost wares, he picked up where he left off and set out down the trail to his next destination.


End file.
